


Five More Minutes

by commander_cullywully



Series: This Feels Like Falling in Love AU [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: College AU, Consensual Sex, Dragon Age AU, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commander_cullywully/pseuds/commander_cullywully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen just wants five more minutes. Five more minutes to lie in bed with her. Five more minutes to forget about upcoming meetings and classes. <br/>Five minutes turns into much longer...and Cullen's perfectly okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five More Minutes

“Five more minutes,” Cullen mumbles when he feels her start to climb over him. He reaches over to gently drag her back to his mattress, back in his arms. This is where she belongs. His fingers lightly trail up and down her side, causing her skin to prickle underneath his touch. She rolls over to face him. The product that once slicked back his hair has all but disappeared, instead thick, unruly curls have taken its place. He’s resting on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow and his eyes half-hooded. “Sleep,” he urges, his voice soft.

“We’ve got class in an hour,” Gwyn whispers, one of her hands running through his loose curls. It’s a busy day for both of them—class, meetings, and Mia is bringing Rosalie to campus to meet the two of them for a dinner date. “We should get up,” she adds, moving to get out of bed again. She giggles when he pulls her close, the stubble on his cheeks scratching her as he nuzzles her face. He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“No,” he mumbles, eyes straining shut. “Lie down.” She obeys, turning away from him to glance at his alarm clock. “Thank you,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. He knows this is frustrating her to no end. She likes being on time, especially on the rare occasion that she actually remembers her plans. He sighs contentedly against her hair, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with her strawberry shampoo.

“I’ve got a meeting with Josie in half an hour though,” she whispers. Without looking at her, he can practically hear the pout on her face. She looks over her shoulder at him. “Cullen…”

“Shhh.” He moves just enough to nip at her jawline and tighten his grip around her waist. “Text her that you’ll be late,” he says gently, pressing another kiss to her bare shoulder.

“That’s what I did last night…or have you forgotten?” She laughs and Cullen smiles at the memory of her pressed against the wall of the living room, his erection throbbing in his pants as she rocked against the hand he’d slipped under her skirt. There’s no way he’d forget the way buttons clattered to the floor before he reached inside her blouse to cup her breasts. Or how his name slipped from her lips in between loud moans that, for sure, could be heard through the dormitory halls.

“It crossed my mind,” he says, his voice low. He opens his eyes and feels a sense of pride at her appearance. Her chestnut hair that was tied in a loose bun the night before now spills over her right shoulder with soft curls that stop just before her breasts. There’s a smear of her makeup just below her left eye and, for a second, he considers wiping it off for her. But she looks too perfect—a physical reminder of everything they did the night before.

She rests her head back on his pillow, and his fingers travel up and down her thighs, causing her to tuck her bottom lip behind her teeth. He gently rolls her over, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. He moves to her neck-one of her favorite places to be kissed-and plants an open-mouthed kiss just below her jawline. Cullen nibbles at the flesh there, relishing the soft sighs of pleasure he elicits just before pressing another wet kiss to her collarbone.

“You’re perfect,” he groans, looking up to meet her gaze. At first, she is at a loss for words. She still isn’t quite used to his compliments, let alone the husky timbre of his voice. He looks at her like she’s a gift from Andraste Herself—something rare and unexpected he still can’t contain within his grasp.

“Cullen,” she warns, sucking in a breath when he presses his lips to the mole that rests just beneath her left breast. If he keeps this up, she won’t be able to leave…and he knows it. He hides his smile as she props herself up with her elbows and flashes a stern look at him.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence as his eyes focus on the stiff peaks in front of him. He cups her right breast in his hand, his thumb brushing over her nipple. He kneads it in his hands, listening to her sigh above him.

“Cullen, it’s been more than five minutes, we really should go—oh!” She gasps as he takes her other nipple in his mouth and her elbows give way. He smirks against her skin, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest that makes her shudder under his touch. His tongue circles around the pebbled flesh, her hums of approval fueling him as he trails kisses lower. She wants more—Gwyn protests when his mouth leaves her breasts and she rolls her hips against him, trying to gain some kind of friction for the loss of his mouth. His erection is straining against her thigh, but he holds back the desire to be inside of her. This is about her.

She bites back a moan, her hands fisting the sheets when his lips travel to her hips. His tongue leaving no area untouched, Gwyn sucks in a sharp breath at the feel of his lips between her thighs and he glances up at her in admiration. She looks beautiful—eyes shut tight as she bites down on her lower lip, her chest heaving underneath his fingertips. It’s a rare thing to see her look so vulnerable. He’s not lost on what that means coming from her. She must feel the way his touch has stilled, because she opens her eyes—bright blue peering down at him.

“Should I stop?” His voice is low and Gwyn shudders at the feel of his stubble against the inside of her thigh. His tongue flicks out, teasing her clit with long strokes. She’s so wet already and the way she’s looking at him through her eyelashes, he’s sure he already knows her answer. She forces herself to look at the clock, barely thinking it over before shaking her head.

“Hang the meeting—keep going,” she hisses, her fingers grasping for his blond curls. He smiles against her, his tongue deftly darting over her folds once more. She tastes sickly sweet- slightly tangy - and he can’t seem to get enough. She moans at every touch, arching her back when his nose grazes against her swollen nub. “Cullen,” she whimpers, rolling her hips against him. Maker, the way she says his name like that. Breathless and full of want. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to hear a woman moan his name so desperately.

“You like this?” he asks, pausing to smirk. He slips a finger between her folds and she grinds against him more, her hips working to gain urgency against the languid laps of his tongue. She gasps his name, each syllable a staccato straining on her lips. He lets another finger slide through her entrance and glances up at her when her thighs squeeze around him, pleased to see how her lips are paralyzed in a silent cry.

“Y-yes!” she pants, her eyes squeezing shut. He pumps his fingers, feeling her legs shake around him and her heels dig into his back. “Cullen.” This time his name is a plea on her lips as she writhes under him. Smiling against the slickness of her folds, he sucks at her clit and crooks his fingers inside of her. She falls apart underneath him, a loud cry filling the room as she clenches around his fingers. She winds her fingers in his curls, arching her back as she rides out the waves of her release.

A low chuckle leaves Cullen as he becomes level with her face and she wastes no time taking his face in her hands, tasting herself on his lips. This man will be the death of her. Her tongue explores his mouth and when he smiles against her lips, she catches his bottom lip with her teeth.

“You’d better text Josephine,” he says, reaching for his glasses to check the time. She only has ten or fifteen minutes before she’s supposed to be meeting her at the Union. He flashes a grin and presses a quick kiss below her ear. “Your phone’s on the table,” he adds, gently nuzzling her neck, his stubble tickling her just before his teeth nibble at her flesh. A grin breaking across her face, she rolls on top of him. He can already see the idea forming in Gwyn’s mind.

“What d’you think you’re doing?” he rasps. Her skin is warm against his and he smirks at the sight of her seductive smile. Wickedness glints in her eyes as she covers his mouth with her own. Her tongue travels to his shoulder, playfully biting at his flesh, and he can’t seem to find his words. She looks up at him, her breasts brushing against his stomach as she travels lower. Her lips hover over his navel, seductive eyes watching him carefully as she sucks at his skin. She licks her bottom lip, hovering over his erection with a devilish grin that makes him feel heavy with desire.

“Gwyn, you don’t-” He wants to tell her it’s not necessary. That this morning is for her more than it is for him, but the words become lost as she takes him into her mouth. His hips buck out of impulse and she stills, her tongue hot against the shaft of his cock. He groans at the sensation of her tongue swirling around his head and his fingers bury themselves in her brown hair when she takes the rest of his length.

“Mm, Gwyn.” Her name slips out in a moan as his crown hits the back of her throat. She watches him carefully, responding to every buck of his hips with the movement of her tongue against his shaft. In a moment of boldness, her teeth gently scrape against his length and Cullen lets out a deep groan.

Head gently bobbing up and down, her tongue swirls around his length in a way that makes it difficult for him to keep himself under control.

“If you keep going—” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut. But Gwyn continues with a knowing smirk.

It’s when her tongue darts out, flicking at his slit to collect the bit of precum that’s oozing there, that even she can’t resist rolling her hips against him. The feeling is far too much for Cullen—her lips too warm, too inviting. He needs to be inside her, wants to feel her shatter beneath his hips all over again.

He pulls her up by her arms, drowning her complaints with his lips over hers. He knows she would keep going if he let her, but he needs to feel the inside of her. His eyes flicker open, studying the way that sunlight sneaks through the curtains and hits her pale skin, the scar on her jawline practically glowing. She looks and feels like gold in his hands, and, Maker, she’s so perfect. He deepens the kiss, tasting himself on her lips, and when one of his hands disappears between her legs she moans in his mouth. 

“I need you,” he rumbles, his voice raw. His glasses become crooked on his face the more feverish his kisses become. Within seconds, one of her hands curls around his length and presses his head against her entrance. She’s slick with desire and Cullen grits his teeth at the way she’s smirking below him. “Maker’s breath, Gwyn,” he all but growls in her ear, his fingers digging into her skin.

They both let out strangled moans when he thrusts inside of her, slipping past her folds and filling her completely. Gwyn rolls her hips against him as he kisses her jawline, his tongue running over the grooves of her scar, and he almost comes from the movement of her hips alone. He scans her body-- a gift from Andraste, he reminds himself as he begins a steady pace. He fits inside of her like she was made for him and, even though her arms and legs are wrapped tightly around him, he can’t seem to get close enough to her. He pumps his hips against her, her fingers raking against the muscles of his back the more he picks up speed.

On the nearby end table, Gwyn’s phone goes off—the shrill ringtone reminding them both of their lateness, and, out of the corner of Cullen’s glasses, he can see Josephine’s name. He considers telling her, but Gwyn takes his chin in one of her hands, forcing his attention on her.

“Leave it!” she moans against his lips, digging her heels into his backside. Her eyes are practically begging him and he obliges, driving into her with hard strokes while one of her hands slips between her legs. He can feel her fingers drawing circles between them, her hands applying pressure and grazing his length.

Her body is warm, like a flame lapping around him he can’t quite quench. She clenches around him the faster he thrusts and every moan of her name that falls from his lips seems to fan the embers. Every roll of her hips that meets his thrusts threatens to turn him to ash.

Her incoherent cries are muffled against his shoulder as the slap of skin on skin continues to fill the room. She’s biting, moaning against his skin and he returns the favor—his tongue snaking out below her ear. He can feel himself tightening, pleasure coiling with every thrust.

But he holds back—not yet, he tells himself. One of his hands buries itself in her hair, cupping the side of her head and tangling his fingers in brown waves as he nibbles at her throat.

She comes apart underneath him- the coil that’s been building up with every thrust of his hips finally snapping at his touch and his name washes over her in blissful waves. Her muscles clench around him, her nails leaving parenthetical indentations all over his back as her mouth covers his in a desperate kiss.

He unravels at the sound of her voice not far behind her, his eyes squeezing shut as he cries out her name in a strangled moan against her lips. He drives into her once more, filling her with blissful release until he collapses on top of her.

“Maker,” she rasps, framing his face with her hands. “You Fereldens and your tongues.” She bursts into laughter against his lips and the sound is so contagious, his own chuckles become muffled by her kisses.

Eventually, he gently moves to her side, one of his legs still nestled between her own and one of his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He pulls her close, both of them only speaking in happy sighs and soft “I love you’s.” They remain like this for some time, sweat streaking both of their faces as they hold one another. When she closes her eyes, his own study the way she takes each breath and the way her lips turn upward at his touch. He frames her face with one hand, the rough pad of his thumb tracing her scar until she meets his gaze.

“What?”

A small smile creeps on her lips and Cullen debates all the thing he could possibly tell her. That she is loved far more than she could possibly realize. That the freckles on her face could rival the constellations she studies every night. That she’s a vision of wonder and sin wrapped in sunlight. That she’s something so rare and beautiful, he thanks the Maker for her existence every second he’s with her. The words all seem to falter on his lips.

“Thank you for the late morning,” he whispers, brushing his lips against the knuckles of her hand. She tilts her head, admiration washing over her face until there’s a knock at the door.

“Are you two quite done in there or are you not planning on returning Josephine’s phone calls?” Gwyn’s face reddens at the sound of Dorian’s voice.

“Fuck,” she groans, eyes widening as she sits up in bed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“I thought he was staying at Leliana’s last night,” Cullen says softly, adding an apology when he sees her eyes dart around the room frantically.

“Where are my clothes?” she hisses at him, leaning over the side of the bed to go through abandoned piles. He almost tells her to retrace her steps, but the realization slowly dawns on him.

“Now, I don’t want to make any hasty assumptions about what happened in the comfort of our living room, but there’s a beautiful blouse just completely ruined on our floor,” Dorian calls out from the other side of the door.

“No, no, no, no….” Gwyn moans, tugging on one of Cullen’s button up shirts. She gathers her bra, phone, and keys in one hand. She returns to Cullen’s bed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. She backs away to the door, propping herself against it. “Dinner later with Mia and Rosalie?” she asks breathlessly, a small smile on her face.

“Love you,” Cullen chuckles, covering himself with his comforter and returning her smile with a nod. She takes a deep breath as he curls her hand around the door knob, steeling herself for the gloating on the other side.

“There’ll be no living with him after this,” she groans. She opens the door, revealing Dorian leaning against the frame with a smug smile. “Don’t. Say. A. Single. Word,” she seethes. She looks back at Cullen before dashing out of the door. “I love you!”

Dorian shoots him a coy look.

“Don’t give me that,” Cullen warns, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t know you were even home.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, the whole dormitory knows what you two were up to,” Dorian chortles, leaving Cullen alone in his room. Cullen runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he adjusts his glasses. “Get dressed,” Dorian mutters from the living room.

Gwyn was right. Dorian will never let them live this down.

He thinks of Gwyn’s moans filling the room, echoing in the dormitory hall, and a grin breaks across his lips.

Maybe that’s not quite such a bad thing?


End file.
